Pastures Green
by AnimationMutation
Summary: One shot. The Infection leaves nothing but pain and sorrow in its path.


Crickets, frogs, and katydids chirped noisily in the twilight, drowning out the sound of buzzing mosquitoes and the soft slap of water on cypress knees. The murky water gleamed with an orange reflection of the sun, the hanging moss making odd shadows. All in all, it could be described as a relaxing sight to the end of a lazy day.

In the creeping dark, a rusty colored Doberman prowled along the soggy ground. It stopped suddenly, moving its jowls up in a growl toward a bush a few feet before it. A smaller, darker colored mutt appeared, looking a little worse for wear. The Doberman ceased its growling and nipped at his companion, before leading the way farther into the bayou.

The two came upon a hunched figure draped in black, brown, and dark green, a scoped rifle as steady as a plank in their hands. The dogs took position beside their master, waiting for the intended target to drop when the trigger was pulled. A loud bang echoed, causing birds to flock in panic to the sky.

The figure moved quickly after the dogs, who were already a good distance ahead in the knee-deep water. The dogs waited next to the fallen doe, seeming on edge. They were growling by the time their master reached them and began tying the legs together for easier travel. Something had them spooked.

The hunter pulled on the rope, dragging the deer along, glad that it was relatively small. A fishing boat came into view, sitting at the edge of a vast lake, a small island sitting comfortably in the middle.

The deer was shoved into the boat, its killer getting ready to shove off as quickly as possible. The dogs were barking madly; not a good sign. One suddenly took off into the dark, a loud cry quickly following.

"Loki! Damn it all! Brutter! Go!" The Doberman ran ahead of his master to assist his more enthusiastic friend. The man grabbed hold of the rifle, reloading it as quickly as possible as something pulled itself out of the mud, moving low and quick. A well-aimed shot to the head had it down and out.

The flashlight duck taped to the end of the gun was clicked on, showing the dogs tearing into the rotting flesh of their pursuers. The gun was unloaded into the heads of many of them, trying to push them back far enough that the three would have a chance to get away.

"Brutter! Loki! Boat!" Panic was evident in his voice, as the echoing gunshots seemed to only encourage the mindless blobs of flesh to gather and move quicker. Brutter was already sitting next to the deer; Loki was practically dragged beside him. As great of a guard dog that he was, listening was never a strong area.

The old motor sprung to life after a few tugs, zipping the survivors into deeper water, the dogs working to kill the one that managed to hang on. The once human fell from the boats side and franticly splashed around, trying to stay up. He suddenly disappeared from the waters surface; being dragged down by one of the lakes many residents.

The man let out a shaky breath as he slowed the boat as to not burn out the motor. It would be bad to be stuck out in the middle of gator-infested waters. He glanced at his dogs; Brutter looked a little scuffed, but nothing water wouldn't wash off. Loki, on the other hand, hand plenty of open wounds. He had a nasty habit of attacking anything he wasn't comfortable with and usually almost got himself killed because of it. Then there were times he would walk right up to a stranger and lick their hand and no one could train him to do much of anything; everything he did, he did by his own terms. He believed his wife did good in naming him.

He pulled the boats nose until it rubbed against the mud below it before hauling the deer's corps up onto his shoulders. Both dogs were already running for the house, eager to get far from the waters edge, knowing a gator could pop up at any given moment, despite the abundance of meat meandering around on the mainland. Though, he was glad that was all he had to worry about since nothing else could swim.

The two-story house was old; hand built by his great-grandfather and great-grandmother. The white and blue paint was dull and chipping away little by little, some of the house had been rebuilt due to wood rot and bugs, but it stood tall and strong. The island it sat on used to be a hill surrounded by a small plantation that his family owned. Due to heavy rains and floods, the crops couldn't be grown any longer, but there was plenty of game on the main land and plenty of room around the house for a small garden, so his family had chosen to stay, living off the fat of land. It had been going quit well to, until everyone started getting sick.

"Jack!" he called, making his way up the stairs. The deer had been stuffed in the icebox; he'd worry about it later.

"Jack! Boy, you best not be ignorin' me!"

A strangled cough and a low moan caused him to lower his voice. He pushed open a door to a room decorated to fit that of a little boy. The dark blue comforter on the bed moved around until a head of messy hair peeked out.

"Jack? Son, you feelin' any better?"

The child sat up with some help coughing and sniffling. His once beep brown hair was a sandier color, his once sunbathed skin was turning more yellow and grey. His eyes were pale and puffy where they used to be a dark brown.

"My tummy hurts, daddy," he all but wheezed.

"Think you could try to eat somethin'? It might help you feel better."

The boy nodded weakly as he snuggled under the covers as his father gave him a peak on the head. It took everything he had to not crumble to the floor once he shut his door. This had happened to his pregnant wife and he had to put a bullet between her eyes before she had a chance to spit that green slime on their sleeping son. That was difficult enough, he didn't know if he could handle doing it to his child.

He went downstairs to the large kitchen, digging through the pantries. He slammed his fist on the counter, startling the dogs, when he couldn't find anything edible for Jack to stomach. There was still the deer in the icebox. He could make some of the meat into a broth, though it would take time to skin and clean it. It was his only option at the moment, Jack would probably sleep through it all anyway.

He couldn't remember a time when gutting an animal had been so difficult. He had been doing it since he was a kid; it was nothing new. So why was his stomach knotting up now? He thought it was the smell that was causing him to heave, so he tried to hold his breath. As soon as he filled his lungs with cleaner air, the contents of his body forced itself out. He was down on all fours; shaking madly by the time he got his muscles under control.

He sat back for a moment to catch his breath, spitting out the taste. Though, the taste confused him. It had the grotesque bile flavor, but it was also strong in metallic. He looked down, almost throwing-up again when seeing deep red seeping into the ground.

He was shaking again, but not from the energy it took to puke, no. This was from fear.

A sound brought his eyes away from the mess and onto Brutter. He was nudging him against his hand, whining and grunting. Leave it to the animals to know what's going on.

* * *

The young man moved quietly through the low bushes toward the house. He and his companions had found an abandoned pontoon boat miles back along the river, using it for safer crossing through the bayou until an alligator bit a hole in its side. Luckily, the river widened out into a lake with a small island they were able to make it to before they sank. There didn't seem to be any infected on the little spit of land, but it never hurt to be too careful.

A large house came into view, creaking with the wind. He watched the windows for any movement. Last time he walked by a two-story house in this nick-of-the-woods, he had been hogtied by a Smoker.

He pushed open the front door, stopping when he heard a low growl. His mind instantly screamed 'Hunter!' but it didn't seem right. He moved farther into the house, trying to pinpoint where the growling was coming from. He stopped dead when his flashlight shinned on a sickly looking dog. Though, it looking sickly didn't take away from its saliva-coated teeth.

"Whoa, easy there, boy…" He tried, putting his hand up to show he meant the animal no harm. "My name's Ellis, and I ain't gonn'a hurt ya'." He nearly jumped out of skin when a bark came from behind. Turning quickly, he found another, wounded dog growling at him.

Now, he usually wouldn't be this nervous if two zombies from opposite directions were facing him. But zombies had flat teeth and blunt hands with warn down nails. Those things on a dog could do a lot more damage in a shorter amount of time.

"Aw, Christ in a hand basket… Nick! Coach! Anybody?" He didn't want to shoot them, they were supposed to be mans best friend after all. He was afraid if he fired at one, the other would jump before he could fully turn. If he ran, both would follow. Even a lame dog could move fast if provoked.

A click pulled his attention away for a split second, his eye catching a white blur out of the corner of his eye. A loud bang went off, followed by a short whimper. Before he could react, another shot went off, causing the bigger dog to land with a dull 'thud' in mid leap.

"Jesus, Ellis. Where you just going to stand there and let it pounce you?"

"I didn' want to shoot'em, Nick. They were only protectin' their home."

"If the owners dead, there's no point in protecting it, overalls."

Nick didn't give Ellis a chance to respond, pushing past him and farther into the house. A creak from the doorway caused the mechanic to turn. A dark, heavyset man entered the house, eyeing the dogs.

"This what you were hollerin' about, boy?" He nudged the closest body with his foot, seeing if it would spring at him.

"Yeah. Nick shot'em. I didn' want to, but I don' think they were gonna' be too friendly."

"Well, by the way they look, they might have only seen ya' as a meal. Look at'em! They're all bones! Shootin'em might've been for the best." He patted Ellis's back, trying to comfort the young man. "Come on. Let's see if there's anything worth eatin' in the kitchen. I'm starving!"

There were a few edible cans of food, even a large quantity of meat in the icebox. Oh, they'd eat like kings tonight! A dark woman, Rochelle, had entered at one point, saying that she and Nick hand finished scouting out the island, and didn't find a single infected. It was a breath of fresh air for all of them.

Coach had suggested making a ragtag jambalaya after finding several large containers of rice and a healthy looking vegetable garden just outside. Not even Nick could deny that, that sounded heavenly.

Ellis and Rochelle had been picking through the overgrown garden when Ellis let out a loud yelp. Rochelle was at his fallen side in a second, holding out the garden hoe she had been using in a raised position.

"I'm alright, Ro-girl. Just tripped over somethin,' Ellis picked himself up and moved the tall grass out of the way, sucking in air when he found what had tripped him. A man lay on his stomach, his form and the rocks around him stained with dry blood, a gun lay next to his hand.

"Oh! I was wondering where that smell was coming from." Ellis looked up at Rochelle's retreating form when he noticed how nonchalant she sounded at seeing the body. Though, he really couldn't blame her. After all they had been through, a dead body wasn't all that new.

Ellis glanced over the man. He didn't look like he had been an Infected, so why was there a bullet hole in his forehead? This place was disserted wasn't it? Or was there some new Infected that figured out how to use guns? Ellis hoped to God there wasn't.

It was then he noticed the small mound of dirt next to the man. It seemed out of place; a random lump in the middle of a garden. It wasn't until he moved closer did he see a large rock.

'Jack Mal Bucker, Innocent Son' was crudely carved into it. It made Ellis's heart clench in an iron grip. His mood depleted farther when he noticed another, larger mound on the other side of the man, a large rock with faded words.

Ellis suddenly felt his eyes dampen in sorrow for this man. He had lost both his wife and his son, both to the Infection more than likely. He had taken his own life after he had buried them. It made him wonder, just how many lives had the Infection taken? How many lives had it ruined? How many innocents, like the boy, had it destroyed?

He found a shovel close by, ignoring his hunger needs for the moment and began to dig a new spot in between the two mounds.

_Rest in peace, buddy. You're with your family now._

**This was inspired by the songs **_**The Infection **_**and **_**Innocence **_**by **_**Disturbed **_**from their new album, **_**Asylum.**_


End file.
